


Interlude: Horace Emerson

by pryxis



Series: The Unfolding of Erik Lehnsherr [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:03:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pryxis/pseuds/pryxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thoughts of Horace Emerson as he contemplates the adoption of the young orphan named Erik Lehnsherr. Meant to be read in between chapters 3 and 4 of To Unfold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude: Horace Emerson

Horace Emerson was a slightly stout man with dark brown hair and blue watery eyes. He was a man that prided himself on his great distinction, no matter how imagined that distinction may be. He wore the latest styles, his watch was flashy yet understated, and his shoes were made from the finest leather that money could buy. He had married a young woman named Genevieve, from an unbelievable wealthy family from whose wealth they were able to buy a formidable estate. It helped that she was fairly pretty, but it wasn't her looks that drew him to begin courting her in the first place. Three years of being comfortably wedded and all their friends were making polite inquiries on when they would be able to welcome a child. But to tell the truth, he wasn’t too keen on children. 

However, his wife was; and he supposed that it was his duty to attempt to give her what she wanted and it would be convenient to have someone to carry on the family name after he passed. Besides it's not as if he would be expected to have much contact with the child, he barely saw his own parents while growing up. Unfortunately, they were unable to have a child the normal, natural way. Two years ago, Genevieve had been pregnant, but lost the child during a particularly grueling bout of pneumonia. She never really recovered from the grief of losing that child, and her doctor said that she was far too weak to carry a child in her state.

It was the lack of success that frustrated him. 

He was nearly forty, with a young pretty wife who should be at the peak of her child bearing years. He knew what that they whispered every time his name was brought up. Soon he would be an old man, with no one to inherit his fortune once he was gone and buried. The name would die out, and his fortune would pass down to some cousin he had never met.

He knew that Genevieve wanted to adopt, but he was damned if he was to take some unmannered street urchin into his home. They would wake up one day and everything of value would be gone. He wouldn’t be able to stand the scandal, the embarrassment.

But then the Kindertransport was announced. 

Young Jewish children rescued from Nazi Germany, given a safe haven in England while their kind were being persecuted. Some of his friends took in a child, taking the risk to be seen as philanthropists.

Not all of these children were street urchins. Some of them had grown up in wealth, only to see it cruelly taken away when Hitler grew in power. They would have the suitable breeding and manners that he was looking for in a child.

So he and his wife went to look at the children. Some of the children were more than suitable; but their thick accented English was too bothersome for Horace to bear. It seemed that his donations to the Kindertransport program were going to go to waste. He was about to give up, apologize to his wife and maybe get her a dog that she could fuss over; he knew someone who bred Corgis.

But then Erik came along.

Horace couldn’t ask for a more acceptable child.

He was skeptical of the child at first, in frayed clothing and a worn hat clutched in his hands. He was prepared to send the child away, until he started to speak to his wife in French, and then addressed him in flawless English, with the slightest trace of an Irish accent. (This could be fixed. With the proper company, he would be speaking like a proper Englishman before he was twelve.)

He was well mannered, soft spoken, and handled his questions and inquiries with an aristocratic flair that no one he knew could pull off successfully, and yet this child somehow managed it gracefully. 

And his wife seemed utterly charmed by him.

“A porter will be by to grab your bag. Come along boy, I’m sure you’re tired from the journey.”

His wife broke out in a smile that nearly split her face in two. He knew that he should be happy to see her happy, but all he could think that she was showing far too much gum for that smile to be attractive. 

“Do you really mean it, Horace? He can stay with us?”

“Of course he can stay with us, pet. Now finish your tea, it’s been a long day.”

The child gave him a mysterious smile that made a prickle of unease rise up his spine. He ignored it.

This child was perfect.


End file.
